


First High of the Morning

by southsideforever



Series: Bold Will Hold [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Developing Relationship, EMT Ian Gallagher, Explicit Sexual Content, Tattoo Artist Mickey Milkovich
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:01:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28583169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/southsideforever/pseuds/southsideforever
Summary: What Mickey does know is that he likes Ian. He’s probably liked him since his clumsy ginger ass tripped over the tattoo shop threshold.Observations are made and feelings are explored as Ian and Mickey's relationship continues to develop.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: Bold Will Hold [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2094369
Comments: 47
Kudos: 208





	First High of the Morning

A car door slamming is what wakes him up, head jerking off the pillow. Mickey knows he’s not on the southside, but some habits die hard. It’s early summer and they left the window open to take advantage of the cool night breeze. The bedroom is bright, the sun shining through the windows and casting a soft glow on everything. It only takes him a second to realize what happened and settle back down. 

Mickey reaches over to grab his phone off the nightstand, checking the time. He quietly groans because it’s way too fucking early and puts it back face down. 

His eyes wander over to the sleeping redhead next to him. Ian is so peaceful when he sleeps, rarely tossing and turning. His mouth is partly open as he slowly breathes in and out, belly rising and falling under his freckled hand. Mickey rarely gets to see Ian like this because he’s rarely, if ever, the first one awake, but Ian’s soft features and slight bedhead just might turn him into a morning person. 

Mickey knows that Ian’s work alarm is set to go off in about 15 minutes and he wants to let him sleep, he really does, but it’s becoming increasingly difficult not to touch him. Biting his lip, Mickey slides closer to Ian, testing the waters by putting his hand on the other man’s upper arm, lightly running his fingers up and down Ian’s bicep. When he doesn’t get a response, he moves his hand to the redhead’s chest, rubbing gentle slow circles. Mickey presses his lips against Ian’s arm, placing a couple of light kisses. 

Ian begins to stir, his face twitching just slightly. Mickey smirks and lets the sheet slide off his body as he begins to work his lips up the redhead’s shoulder and clavicle. He hasn’t opened his eyes yet, but Mickey can tell from the change in his breathing that Ian’s awake. 

He makes it to the column of Ian’s neck before a lanky arm stretches over him, resting on his side. Mickey smiles against him and pulls back just enough so he can see Ian’s face. “Hi,” Mickey whispers, earning a small tired smile. 

“Morning,” Ian responds, voice deep and raspy from sleep. “Mmm,” Ian groans as he stretches his legs out, the sheet falling from his hips. Mickey can see Ian’s woke up with a hard on and smiles into the side of his neck. 

The smile turns back into kisses, kisses that become wetter and hotter as Mickey incorporates his tongue. He can hear Ian’s small moans and feel the vibrations under his lips.

Taking that as encouragement, Mickey rubs a few more gentle circles into Ian’s chest before working his hand down the redhead’s torso, fingers running through his coarse ginger hair and over his ab muscles. He kisses back down Ian’s throat as his hand goes lower and lower. He kisses at Ian’s pecs when his hand gets just above his dick, bypassing the hard shaft that’s resting up against his belly to gently scratch through Ian’s pubic hair causing the redhead to groan and shift his legs.

Mickey teases him a little more, blunt fingernails raking over the sensitive skin, then takes Ian’s cock by the base, jerking just slightly since he didn’t grab the lube.

“This okay?” Mickey whispers against Ian’s chest. 

“Mmhmm,” Ian replies, moving one of his hands to run his fingers through Mickey’s hair. Mickey smiles against his chest, placing another kiss. He works his tongue over Ian’s nipple drawing out a small whimper from above. He pulls back just enough to blow air over the newly wet skin, making the bud harden even more. Mickey lets out a small laugh when the redhead playfully tugs on his hair. 

Although Mickey isn’t wholeheartedly jerking Ian’s cock, a drop of precum is bubbling from his slit. He swipes his thumb over the sensitive glands, spreading what’s there around the head.

Mickey brings his hand up and licks across his palm, getting it wet. He reaches for Ian’s cock again, his spit-slick fist easily gliding up and down. Ian groans under him, fingers wrapped up in the artist’s dark hair, as Mickey establishes a firm rhythm. 

Ian’s eyes squeeze shut, head pressing against the pillow and back slightly arching when Mickey starts focusing on the head of his cock, small quick up-and-down jerks over the sensitive crown.

“Mickey,” Ian pants. 

Mickey hums against his chest in acknowledgment before working his tongue over Ian’s nipple again. He laps and sucks on beat with his strokes, slowly driving the redhead mad. Mickey can feel his own cock standing against his belly, aching to be touched, wishing his other arm wasn’t awkwardly trapped between their bodies. 

Ian scratches at Mickey’s scalp, sucking in a quick breath as Mickey thumbs at the ultra-sensitive spot on the underside of his cockhead. 

“Oh, god,” Ian moans out. “Mickey… Mick…” His grip tightens on Mickey’s hair, silently begging the artist to look up at him. Taking the hint, Mickey pulls back and slows his stroking, keeping his fingers wrapped loosely around the shaft. Ian’s face is flush, eyes relaxed and half-lidded, as he lightly pants. 

“Want me to…” Ian trails off when Mickey shakes his head, letting go of his hard cock to lean over to get condoms and lube from the nightstand drawer himself. 

Mickey settles back, straddling Ian’s thighs. He leaves the condom on Ian’s stomach, focusing on uncapping the sticky lube bottle so he can coat his fingers. Ian’s hands rest on the sides of Mickey’s thighs, rubbing back and forth gently as he watches the artist reach back to open himself up.

Mickey presses against the sensitive ring of muscle, his hole easily giving way to two fingers. The angle isn’t the best and he can just barely graze that spot, but when he opens his eyes, the look on Ian’s face as he watches him makes him forget everything else. 

They maintain eye contact while Mickey begins to scissor his fingers before adding a third. He works his hips the best he can to meet his fingers, Ian offering to assist, but Mickey just shakes his head. He can feel his hard cock bounce with his small movements, precum beading at the tip. 

After a minute or two, he decides he’s good, taking his fingers out and reaching for the condom. He murmurs a _shut up_ when Ian chuckles watching him struggle to tear open the slippery foil wrapper. Once he gets it and tosses it to the side, he focuses on unraveling the latex down Ian’s length. Grabbing the lube, he drips more onto the head of Ian’s cock and uses his hand to spread it along the shaft, a couple of firm strokes. 

Mickey shuffles forward using his knees so he’s straddling Ian’s hips rather than his thighs. He reaches back to take hold of Ian’s cock, but the redhead beats him there. Ian keeps one hand on Mickey’s thigh and uses the other to guide his cock, rubbing the head against Mickey’s hole once, twice. Mickey rests his palms flat against Ian’s chest for balance as he slowly sinks down, eyes fluttering closed and a pleasured sigh escaping his parted lips. 

“Fuck,” Ian harshly whispers, running his hands up Mickey’s thick thighs when the artist is fully seated. “You’re so hot.” 

“Fuck off,” Mickey whispers back with a smirk, walls clenching in a way that makes them both moan. He swirls his hips and begins to rock back-and-forth adjusting to the redhead. Ian watches Mickey pull his bottom lip between his teeth, breathing heavily through his nose. It’s warm and tight and _fuck_ if they both aren’t extra sensitive in the mornings. 

Mickey begins to push up on his knees, working his body up and down Ian’s cock. His cock taps against Ian’s lower belly leaving behind droplets of precum. The quiet bedroom is filled with panting breaths and soft groans and slick squelches as Ian slides his hands up Mickey’s thighs to his waist, supporting his movements. 

“Shit,” Mickey hisses out when the blunt head of Ian’s cock directly hits his prostate. 

Wanting to pull more of those sounds from the artist, Ian presses his feet into the mattress to gain more leverage, thrusting his hips up to meet Mickey. He gets in a few good ones before he feels Mickey settle heavily against his pelvis. “Just lemme...” Mickey requests, grinding down. 

Ian nods and lowers his legs, giving Mickey full control. Mickey reestablishes their pace, fingers pressing harder into Ian’s chest, pushing himself up until Ian’s cock is halfway inside then falling back against him. He peers down taking in the redhead’s flushed face, lips parted. He can feel Ian’s thumbs stroke at his sides at the same relaxed speed as his hips. Mickey watches Ian’s tongue quickly swipe over his lips, the sun reflecting off the peaks. 

_Fuck it_ , Mickey thinks when he leans down to kiss Ian, the redhead’s hands immediately reaching up to cradle the sides of his face. They both taste like stale cigarettes and sleep, but it doesn’t stop their lips and tongues from developing a wet, warm rhythm against each other. 

“Couldn’t have brushed your teeth first?” Ian jokes on the pullback. 

Mickey rolls his eyes. “I can always stop, you know,” he challenges, causing Ian’s hands to scramble back towards his hips, holding him in place, making them both laugh. 

Ian stares up at Mickey, eyes raking over his face and body. God, he’s fucking beautiful. A few strands of hair have fallen onto his sweaty forehead, cheeks tinted pink and breath ragged. The bright colors of his tattoos stand out against his otherwise pale skin, thick thighs straining as he rides Ian with intent. 

He knows Mickey’s found the perfect angle when he starts letting out little high pitched whimpers and oh _fuck_ ’s. Mickey’s head falls backward, getting lost in the feeling. 

Ian reaches out for the lube, squirting some into his hand and quickly abandoning it. He wraps his long fingers around Mickey’s bouncing cock, feeling the artist’s hole clench around him when he does, and starts slow measured strokes. 

“Oh god,” Mickey moans, back arching. 

Ian knows he’s not going to last much longer, warm pressure building in his lower belly, and he can tell Mickey isn’t going to either. “I’m close,” he whispers, breath hitching when he feels Mickey squeeze around him again. 

“Yeah yeah,” Mickey murmurs in agreement, stomach quivering as Ian firmly presses up the thick vein of his cock. He moves his hips in a slow back-and-forth grind, Ian’s cock deep inside pressed up against his prostate. 

As much as Ian wants to get Mickey there first, he knows it’s not going to happen. The constant pressure around his dick and Mickey’s breathy moans have him at the edge, but it’s the quiet encouraging _cum for me_ that hurls him over.

Ian keeps his hands wrapped around Mickey while he cums, one loosely around Mickey’s shaft and the other gripping his hip. His whole body freezes as he empties into the condom. 

Mickey’s grinding slows to an occasional roll of his hips, watching Ian’s eyes squeeze shut and lips part as he cums. Mickey feels Ian’s body tense against him and he can just barely feel his cock pulse inside him. 

“Fuck,” Ian sighs, looking up at Mickey with a blissed-out smile. He moves his hand from Mickey’s waist to his ass, grabbing at his cheek encouraging him to rock against him, using him to get off. His other hand resumes stroking the artist.

“Ian...” Mickey warns after only a few skillful strokes and grazes of his prostate. Ian nods, keeping his pace.

The artist bites his bottom lip when he feels his balls tighten against his body and he shoots four ropes of cum over Ian’s fist and lower belly. His hole flutters around Ian’s sensitive cock, thighs slightly shaking from the aftershocks. 

Both of their chests heaving as they try to catch their breaths, maintaining soft eye contact and even softer smiles. Ian runs his palms up and down Mickey’s warm worn out thighs. Mickey runs a hand through his damp hair, pushing back the sweaty strands. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Mickey slowly climbs off Ian and lays down beside him, looking up at the ceiling. He can feel Ian rustling around, taking off the used condom and grabbing a tissue to wipe his stomach. When he lays back down, they wordlessly shift so Ian’s arm is under Mickey’s head, the crook of his elbow serving as a pillow. Mickey holds onto Ian’s forearm where it’s draped over his shoulder, unconsciously rubbing his thumb back and forth. 

Neither one speaks, their breathing returning to normal as they relax into each other. Mickey almost falls back asleep when he feels Ian’s body jerk, muscles tightening. He feels Ian reach over to grab his phone.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” Ian whispers harshly under his breath, causing Mickey to sit up.

“What?” Mickey questions. 

“My alarm never went off,” Ian replies, getting out of bed, heading towards a chair in the corner he threw his uniform over the night before. “I’m gonna be so fucking late.” 

Mickey watches the redhead frantically put it on. He checks himself out on the mirror above the dresser, adjusting his hair, and smells his armpits. He grabs the deodorant and reaches under his uniform to put it on while looking at Mickey in the mirror. 

“I gotta go to work smelling like sex thanks to you,” he glares, the slightest hint of a smile coming through at the end. 

“Oh fucking well,” Mickey rolls his eyes. “I suppose _the least_ I can do is make you coffee,” he adds, moving to sit up. He’s quickly met with a large freckled hand pushing him back down. 

“No,” Ian tells him gently. He pulls the sheet up to Mickey’s shoulders and leans in to kiss the top of his head. “Go back to sleep.” Ian briefly runs his fingers through Mickey’s hair smiling down at him. “I’ll text you later, okay?” 

Mickey nods and Ian places one more kiss. He settles into the pillows, closing his eyes. He listens as Ian makes his way through the apartment, the bathroom sink turning on and off, the soft grunt he makes bending over to grab his EMT bag, and, finally, the front door shutting. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


It’s almost 11am when Mickey wakes up the second time. He shuffles under the thin sheet and huffs against the pillow, eyes opening slowly. The room is darker than before, the early morning sun having moved across the sky taking the brightness with it. 

A groan builds in his throat as Mickey stretches out his limbs, tattooed fingers finding their way up to wipe the sleep from his eyes. He rolls onto his side, reaching over to grab a cigarette from the flattened pack on the nightstand. 

“C’mon…” he whines, cigarette dangling between his lips as he paws around for a lighter. After a few seconds, he finds it and lights up, taking his phone with him as he leans back against the pillow. Mickey takes a hit, smiling when he sees that he has four messages from Ian. He slides his thumb across the notification bar. 

The first message is a selfie of Ian holding up a box of donuts, balancing a travel mug of coffee on top. Ian’s wearing his sunglasses, his pale arm holding the phone visible in the reflection, as he grins for the camera. 

**Ian (7:14am):** I’m already late so I’m gonna try some bribery. Wish me luck 

Mickey’s smile quickly turns into a laugh when he scrolls to the second image and message. It’s another selfie, but this time Ian’s in the back of the ambulance with a bottle of cleaning solution and a rag over his shoulder. His supervisor, Rita, Mickey thinks, is smiling over his shoulder, pink frosted donut in-hand. 

**Ian (7:37am):** It didn’t work 

He taps the picture so he can zoom in on Ian’s exaggerated _poor me_ face, biting back his smile even though no one’s around to catch him. He leans over to tap the ashes off his smoke into an old coffee mug before replying. 

**Mickey (10:53am):** No one feels bad for you, man

Mickey waits a few seconds to see if those three little dots will pop-up, but when they don’t, he closes out the messages app. He swipes through his limited social media and reads through some emails for appointment requests, responding to a few that peak his interest, before his bladder insists it’s time to get up.

He takes one last drag while sliding towards the edge of the bed, legs swinging over the side, before stubbing the cigarette out in the mug. His smokey exhale morphs into an elongated _fuck_ as he pushes against his knees, propelling himself off the bed and into a full-body stretch, small cracks coming from his joints. He glances at his phone in case he’s missed any messages in the last five seconds. Knowing that he hasn’t, he tosses it back onto the bed and pads across the hallway to the bathroom. 

After using the toilet, Mickey catches his reflection in the mirror and smirks. His hair is sticking up all over the place and he can make out the faintest hickeys under his jawline from last night. He tilts his head to the side to get a better look, wondering if Ian intentionally sought out an uninked spot so he could leave his own mark. 

Mickey decides to take a shower, stepping past the glass door and shutting it. He makes quick work of lathering up his hair and body, the scent of tea tree oil filling the room, and rinses the suds away. He shuts off the water and carefully steps out onto the bath mat, reaching for a towel to dry his hair and arms before wrapping it around his waist. 

He smiles at the fogged up mirror where he can just barely make out the “fuck u” Ian wrote into the condensation a few days ago. Mickey wipes at the surface until he can see his reflection, running his fingers through his messy wet hair. He shaves his face avoiding any nicks and brushes his teeth knowing damn well he’s just going to chase the minty flavor with a cup of coffee and cigarette. 

A wall of cool air hits Mickey as he leaves the humid bathroom. He walks back into his bedroom, pulling the towel from his waist, and uses it to dry himself off. Once he’s satisfied, he grabs the lotion from the dresser, pumping some into his hand. He knows it’s stupid, but he can’t stop himself from thinking _this is so fucking gay_ every time he works the moisturizer into his skin. 

Mickey puts the bottle back on the dresser and reaches for the top drawer, pulling out a pair of black boxer briefs. He pulls them on letting the elastic waistband lightly snap against him. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees his phone screen light up from where it’s laying on the bed. He leans over to grab it, quickly swiping over the notification from Ian. 

**Ian (11:17am):** It’s probably because you didn’t wish me luck 

The corners of Mickey’s lips turn up as he taps out a response. 

**Mickey (11:19am):** I’m the fucking worst

Those three dots pop-up immediately and Mickey sets the phone down on the dresser, peering over the screen as he works a sleeveless Jawbreaker shirt over his chest. 

**Ian (11:19am):** Waking me up early, making me late, and ignoring me?   
**Ian (11:19am):** Your disregard for my well-being is alarming  
**Ian (11:19am):** Guess you’ll have to make it up to me

 **Mickey (11:19am):** Guess I will

 **Ian (11:20am):** 🤨   
**Ian (11:20am):** But also 😏

Mickey huffs out a laugh, their snarky banter making him feel just a little gooey inside. 

He sets off towards the kitchen to make coffee, leaning against the countertop while it brews. They continue to text, sending flirty messages and asking about each other’s days, even though Mickey’s just started as Ian playfully reminds him. The coffee maker beeps at the same time Ian tells him he has to head out on a call. 

**Mickey (11:27am):** Good luck

 **Ian (11:27am):** 👍🏼  
**Ian (11:27am):** I’ll call you later

Locking his phone, Mickey fills a mug to the brim and makes his way to the balcony off the living room, briefly stopping to grab his sketchbook and pencils, precariously balancing his mug and phone on top. The balcony isn’t huge, but it’s big enough to fit a few chairs and a table on, and a perk of being on the third floor is that he can sit out there in his boxers sipping coffee and smoking without complaints or giving the neighbors too much of a show. 

Mickey flips his sketchbook open to the last page. Some of his coworkers give him shit for using actual pencil and paper to outline his designs, especially since he’s just going to use his tablet to polish them, but there’s something about it that Mickey loves. He’s been working with this client for a while, routinely adding to his nautical-themed leg tattoos, and he appreciates the freedom the guy gives him. 

Lighting up another cigarette, he looks down at his progress and smiles thinking of Ian’s _life’s a beach_ comment the night before. The client asked for a grim reaper on vacation, which turned into a scythe-wielding skeleton donning a pineapple print Hawaiian shirt. The design is kitschy, especially for Mickey, but he likes it. 

After an hour or so, Mickey’s stomach rumbles and he heads back inside to freshen his cup and make some toast. While he waits, he looks around the apartment. The first thing he notices is Ian’s headphones on the kitchen table then the worn pair of Nikes by the front door and hoodie hanging off the rack above. It shouldn’t really surprise him, they’ve been seeing each other for just over three months and they spend a lot of time at his place, but it does. He thinks about an interaction he had with one of his coworkers earlier in the week. 

_“How’s your boyfriend, Mick?” Isla asks, rolling her stool over to his workstation. It’s just the two of them in the shop._

_“My what?” he responds by making a face but not looking up from his drawing._

_“Uh, Ian?”_

_“He’s not my boyfriend,” Mickey looks up, cocking his head slightly to the side. “I mean… I don’t know. Maybe. We haven’t talked about it,” he adds in quick succession._

_“Maybe you should… idiot,” she replies rolling away._

And it’s not that Mickey doesn’t want a boyfriend, it’s just that he hasn’t had one before. He’s gone on dates and had a few guys he regularly fucked, but never a _relationship_. If he’s being honest with himself, he’s not really sure how it all works. Does he ask Ian to be his boyfriend? Does Ian want to be his boyfriend? He doesn’t doubt that Ian has at least some sort of feelings for him, but are they _boyfriend_ feelings? 

What Mickey does know is that he likes Ian. He’s probably liked him since his clumsy ginger ass tripped over the tattoo shop threshold. He likes his dorky jokes and how he texts way too much and the stupid soft face he gets when he tells him something personal. He likes having someone ask him about his day and tell him about his in return. He likes the way Ian cradles his face when they kiss and nudges his nose. He likes the way Ian makes him feel. 

“Fuck!” he yells out, jumping when the toast pops up, pulling him out of his thoughts. 

He reaches out for butter when he sees the open box of strawberry Poptarts on the counter next to him, Ian’s favorite, and he knows that he wants a relationship with Ian. And even though it makes him kind of cringe and feel like a teenage girl, he wants it to be official. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Mickey doesn’t even flinch when the piercing apartment buzzer goes off a little after 8pm. He’s been mindlessly watching _Forensic Files_ for the last couple of hours after deciding that his hands had enough for one day. There’s an empty beer on the coffee table in front of him and a near-empty pack of cigarettes beside it as he sits with one leg under his body. He gets up, pressing the button to let Ian in, and unlocks the front door before sitting back down.

“It’s open!” Mickey yells from the couch when he hears footsteps outside the door. 

Ian comes in, kicking off his shoes and tossing his bag down. He makes his way over to Mickey giving him a tired “hey” before leaning down to kiss him. 

“Hey,” Mickey responds, watching Ian pull back and head towards the kitchen. The redhead opens the fridge and knowingly grabs two beers. He twists the caps off both, tossing them into the trash, and takes a long drink from one. 

He shuffles back into the living room and drops them onto the coffee table before throwing himself dramatically onto the couch, head landing in Mickey’s lap. 

“Long day?” Mickey questions, his fingers finding their way into the red strands.

“Uh huh,” Ian affirms through a yawn. “It was pretty non-stop after we talked. I’m fucking exhausted.” 

“Still wanna order from that taco place?” Mickey asks, chuckling when he gets a child-like nod in response. 

“Chicken?” Another nod. 

“Anything else?” 

Ian _hmms_ and arches his eyebrow thinking it over. “Let’s get a few steak ones, too.” 

“Alright,” Mickey agrees. 

“And that green salsa.” 

“You got it.”

“My hero,” Ian jokingly sighs, closing his eyes. 

Mickey continues running his fingers through Ian’s hair and scalp, earning a few appreciative groans, while he places the delivery order. 

“Alright,” Mickey announces. “Gonna be like 30 minutes.” Ian _hmms_ and nestles against his thigh. There’s a lull in conversation as Mickey refreshes his emails and Ian sinks more and more into the couch. 

“Hey, sleepyface,” Mickey says gently after a few minutes. “Why don’t you go shower before the shit gets here?” Ian groans in return, but cracks open his eyes, squinting up at Mickey with a pretend scowl. “C’mon, get the fuck up,” Mickey tells him, playfully patting his cheek. The redhead tries not to laugh and bats his hand away. 

Ian begrudgingly gets up, sighing loudly. He takes another drink of his beer and gives Mickey one last glare before heading down the hall to the bathroom.

Mickey shakes his head, reaching over to grab his drink, mind wandering again. Being with Ian feels right. He can tell Ian things he’s never told anyone else without fear of judgment. He knows Ian’s not going to laugh at him or, worse, pity him. He’s someone Mickey has come to trust, which still feels foreign to him at times, but it’s been worth the risk. 

He doesn’t want to ruin what they have because it’s _good_ , but he also wants some kind of mutual understanding of what’s going on between them. 

Mickey hears the shower turn off and Ian rustling around opening the medicine cabinet likely looking for q-tips. The door opens a minute later, Ian walking into the bedroom. He can faintly smell his body wash wafting down the hallway. Fuck, he’s nervous. Why is he nervous? This is Ian, sweet awkward Ian. 

“Mick, I’m borrowing a pair of boxers!” Ian yells to him. 

When Mickey walks into the bedroom, he’s greeted by a damp ginger wearing his blue plaid boxers. Ian’s shirtless, droplets of water on his shoulders and chest, and he’s slightly pink from the hot water. He rubs at his head with the towel, his natural curls showing. 

“Are we boyfriends?” Mickey blurts out. 

Ian stops drying his hair and looks at the artist. Mickey nervously bites at the side of his lip waiting for a response. 

“...Do you want to be?” Ian asks.

“Do _you_?” he challenges, vulnerability having never been his strong suit. 

“I asked you first,” Ian grins and walks slowly towards him, grabbing him by the hips to pull him closer. Mickey holds onto Ian but avoids making eye contact. Ian slowly takes one of his hands off Mickey’s hip and hooks it under his chin. He uses his fingers to tilt the artist’s face towards his own, their eyes meeting. 

“Yeah,” Mickey whispers out, just barely nodding. “Do you?” He anxiously adds. 

Ian uses his fingers under Mickey’s chin to bring them into a tender kiss. He can feel Mickey’s body sink into him as much as it can while standing up. 

“Yeah,” Ian confirms, cradling Mickey’s face, thumb running over his cheekbone. “I really do.” 

Mickey leans up to kiss him again and he can feel the anxiety slowly dissipate. They wrap their arms around each other, holding on tight as their lips continue to meet in a series of comforting kisses. 

Mickey gives Ian a shy smile when they pull apart. 

“You know,” Ian starts and takes Mickey’s hands into his own. “I was wondering when you were gonna say something. I definitely already told my family we are.” 

“Is that right?” Mickey playfully arches an eyebrow, some of his cockiness returning. 

“Uh, yeah,” Ian steps back. “And I gotta say, it’s about time you locked _all_ this down,” he adds, gesturing down his body with a big toothy grin.

“You know what? Nevermind,” Mickey deadpans, moving towards the door. 

“C’mon, Mickey,” Ian sings out as he starts to ridiculously roll his body.

“No, really,” Mickey shakes his head from the threshold. “I’m good,” he adds. 

His facade crumbles the second he’s in the hallway, out of Ian’s sight. Huffing out a laugh as he heads back to the living room, he can hear Ian yelling out his name, dramatically begging him to come back. 

**Author's Note:**

> I received so much love and encouragement from Bold Will Hold that I've decided to add to the universe. This is the first of a few additions I've outlined. This is pretty fluffy (and spicy), but hopefully it feels like it could be a companion piece and doesn't disappoint! 
> 
> The title is taken from the song "First High of the Morning" by Against Me!
> 
> Here's the [tattoo](https://64.media.tumblr.com/9aaf46130bc096823f28c3849d41a94a/3dbd7a41de142713-6a/s1280x1920/70bd706753fc3aa5717993a9e32f40d79abaf6f9.jpg) Mickey's working on. Inspired by [David Rider's flash](https://www.instagram.com/p/BzY5LVOFg9f/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link) but I wanted pineapples. 
> 
> Connect with me on [Tumblr](https://southside-forever.tumblr.com/) should you be so inclined. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> xx Rhys


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